


The Waiting Room

by neitherbluenorgreen



Category: Good Girls (TV)
Genre: Alcohol, Criminal Past, F/M, Is it Slow Burn or just too much story?, Reader is selfconscious, criminals, overweight reader, rather tame
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-15
Updated: 2019-08-15
Packaged: 2020-09-01 16:47:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,238
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20261302
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/neitherbluenorgreen/pseuds/neitherbluenorgreen
Summary: You know your boss is involved in some shady business, but you don't mind. You're just a bartender.





	The Waiting Room

**Author's Note:**

> No Beta

You got stranded in a little bar somewhere off Interstate 10 close to El Paso. It paid surprising well, considering you were nominally just a bartender. In fact, there was quite a bit going on behind the scenes and the owner, Mr. Franks, liked that you knew to keep your mouth shut and distracted the Highway Patrollers if need be. What exactly was going on was beyond you, but it was hard to care. As long as nobody asked where you were from or how long you’d stay, you’d mind your own business.

This close to the borders there were a lot of shady types around, but Mr. Franks and Kolbert the bouncer kept trouble to a minimum. It helped that most regulars saw you as some kind of kid-sister. You were used to it – compared to Maria, the other bartender, you were rather statuesque. Far from ugly, but – how had your mother called it? Handsome. Homely. Nice to be around. Sure, some drunks had hit on you, but having boobs was the only criterium for them anyhow. You actually preferred it this way. Less mess, less attention. The guys who had fallen in love with you in the past (and not just claimed to, to use you) fell in love with your humor, your personality. Being a bartender there was little use to let much of that personality shine through. There were a few guys you were comfortable trading jokes with, but other than that you were the strong, silent type.

Most of the customers were guys who worked for the military or at the refineries. They were the loners who didn’t like to spend too much time with their colleagues and rather had a beer alone. Some days it was more country-music, some days it was Chicano rap.

And once a month it got dangerous. You preferred to have those days off and Mr. Franks also liked to have guys behind the bar, just in case. It started innocently enough, with a few familiar faces from further away, Salt Lake City, Denver, Kansas City, even Detroit. The next day there’d more guys from south of the border and the next night was your night off. Of course, they gathered because of something illegal. But it didn’t happen at the bar and it didn’t involve you. You tried to steer clear of the men that were more dangerous and kept your head down. As always there were exceptions. While you knew that the man everybody just called Uncle Joe was dangerous, he was always polite and only drank tonic water, still tipping generously. The Brothers Caliente were funny and you could ignore the weapons they carried around, as long as they kept telling you dad-jokes and didn’t cause trouble.

Oh.

And Rio.

Rio seemed like your typical Hispanic gangbanger, covered in tattoos, too cool to care for anything, always carrying. At the same time, he was laid back, funny and had moments where he showed an impressive knowledge of a surprising range of topics. You loved to banter with him, trying to not let his hood-eyed gaze get under your skin or melt at the silky undertones of his normally raspy voice. He was one of the guys you normally stayed clear off. Too dangerous, too shady – to be honest, most of these “gangster” types were a joke to you. A dangerous, potentially deadly joke, but laughable still. All the posing and mouthing off, baggy clothes and waving around of guns seemed so infantile. But Rio was different. More refined. He didn’t need to mouth off (though he could). He didn’t demand respect, he just had it. And he was focused. He concentrated on the task he had set himself and unerringly followed it. True, you mostly met him in a rather relaxed atmosphere, when he was having a drink before meeting a business partner and never saw his professional side, but you preferred it that way. Just a customer.

The day Mr. Franks told you that there’d be a meeting and he needed you at the bar, you were slightly uncomfortable, but pretty sure you’d be able to handle it. You basically knew most of the guys and all you had to do was serve drinks, keep your head down and not seem to interested in anything that was going on.

Thursday rolled around and everything started out fairly normal. While the usual crowed thinned out, more and more people from out of town came in. There were greetings and some low-volume conversations. Drinks were mostly beers and a few shots, all in all they drank far less than the usual crowd. It was past ten when Rio arrived. He came in and scanned the room, nodding at you and then sauntering over to the bar. Without needing an order, you placed a glass Scotch in front of him. He knocked it back and nodded in satisfaction.

“That’s the medicine,” he drawled, though the slight chuckle at the end made it seem far less gangster than it might have sounded.

“Yeah, I’m your nurse for tonight, if you need a fix,” you quipped.

He grinned and licked his lips. “I always had a thing for sexy nurses,” he replied, his tone suggestive. You rolled your eyes. “Yeah, I have to check if we have one of those in the back.”

He grinned and gestured at his glass. You poured another and he just sipped this time. You made a bit of small-talk, how you’ve been and stuff like that, the answers as non-committal as the questions. After a while he got up to join a few other guys on a table in a corner and you had time to tidy things up.

It was before midnight when the patrons slowly left and soon you were alone. When you closed for the night, the parking lot was empty except for your car, the last customer having left nearly twenty minutes earlier. Kolbert nodded at you and wished you a good night as usual, but from the way he held his shoulders you could tell he was under pressure. It made you uneasy, especially as you had not seen anything that seemed in the least dangerous. Except from your customers, but to those he was used.

Friday was not much different, except for a group of Mexican business men who entered around ten and had a tense talk with Kolbert. About half of them left again, the other half settled down and ordered coffee. You were sure something was up – especially since you had never seen those men and they were far to elegantly dressed to fit this bar. It had been 30 minutes tops when they left, too, leaving more tip than you had seen all week. As the night before, the last customer left long before you could holler out the last call. Shaking your head, you closed up and went home.

Saturday noon Maria had called you, saying her brother Tomás who usually was the “Special Saturday” bartender had fallen sick and had forbidden her to cover for him. Maria’s brother was notoriously over-protective of his little sister. Nevertheless, you checked twice if your pepper spray was still working and dressed in sneakers, jeans and that baggy t-shirt you knew made you near invisible.

Arriving at the bar by 5 p.m. you were surprised to find a full parking lot and loud music coming from inside. The cars were expensive, some more flashy than others, but all very well kept. Outside the bar on the small concrete terrace where Mr. Franks sometimes held BBQs were sitting a few men, smoking and drinking water, obviously drivers. You slipped in, quickly greeting Kolbert and going to the back to see who would work with you tonight. To your surprise Mr. Franks himself was hauling crates of beer to the room directly behind the bar.

“Since Tomás won’t come in, I’ll give you a hand tonight,” he informed you, trying to sound cheerful. “I don’t expect this party to last too long, though,” he added. You helped him get things ready, but he waved you off towards the main room after a short while.

There were too few men for the number of cars outside. Those that were there kept to themselves and didn’t seem familiar to you. You kept your head down and did your job. All evening, men drifted in and out, some drinking more than others, but it was quiet. Still, the atmosphere seemed strained, the guests split in two groups that kept to themselves. By 10 p.m. Rio came in. Again, he scanned the room, but ignored you, his face impassive. You knew something wasn’t right. Slowly he went towards the counter, leaning on it with his shoulders hunched up. Without catching your eye, he waved you over, ordering a scotch on the rocks. You were sure than only you heard the murmured addition, signalizing you to serve iced tea in a scotch glass. While you were used to customers doing this, Rio had never needed the subterfuge. When he didn’t want to drink alcohol, he’d have no problem ordering a hot chocolate normally. Hell, you wouldn’t put it past him to make it one with whipped cream and sprinkles.

Serving the beverage, you finally caught his eyes. Though he tried to play it cool, you noticed the strain around his eyes and the warning. No banter tonight. You felt worry hardening your stomach. The last time you had this feeling, you didn’t bother to pack a bag, but just left L.A., without looking back. Your instinct told you to just walk, but at the same time you wondered if leaving Mr. Franks hanging now would be the last straw to make the situation explode. Mixed metaphors aside, until now everybody seemed tense, but calm, adding a strain to the situation wasn’t a good idea.

For some reason it made you feel safer having Rio sitting at the bar, even if you kept your eyes down and you didn’t talk. His presence seemed others from lingering there too long and nobody was in the mood to chat you up.

The music was loud and you felt a headache coming on. Normally you kept the volume lower – it was probably to make the men feel as if nobody was listening in to their conversations. The first crisis was when Kolbert came running in and whispered something to Mr. Franks.

Walking over to the music box, turning it down, he cleared his throat and addressed the room: “Gentlemen, it seems that law and order are on their way to pay us a visit. Probably attracted by those nice cars outside. If there are any precautions you want to take, they’re ten minutes out.”

A few men left abruptly, some went to Mr. Franks and seemed to demand something of him. His demeanor was unusually subservice as he tried to placate them.

To your surprise Rio spoke up, his tone low and only directed at you: “Listen, loyalty is great and all, but keep your head down, in case…”

He didn’t finish the sentence but looked at you meaningfully, making you swallow involuntarily.

“Another one?” you asked crisply, trying to project ignorance at the room at large, but keeping eye-contact. He nodded, relaxing slightly. When you slid the glass over, he was already rising, touching your hand seemingly accidentally with a finger as he took the iced tea. Without another word, he turned and went to one of the tables, talking to the men there.

Mr. Franks came over and patted you on the shoulder.

“No worries, everything’s fine,” he said cheerily, making you worry even more. This was not how he was normally behaving. In the last months he had touched you exactly twice, once to as he shook your hand and told you, you were hired and once when you congratulated him as he proudly presented photos of his new-born nephew. Maria was handsy and kept touching people’s arms when talking, Tomás too, if not as extensively, but nobody else patted you casually on the back. While you still wondered if this was a signal, and if so – for what? – the door opened and a police officer entered the bar.

“Good evening, everybody. Please do not worry, we just want to have a look around!” he announced in a calm steady voice. Behind him three more cops entered, spreading out along the wall. You knew none of them, so this wasn’t the normal patrol. Mr. Franks hurried over to greet them, the room silent except for the music from the music box. You almost smiled to yourself as you found yourself whipping down the counter with a cloth, making this even more like a movie-scene. Still the bad feeling in your stomach kept you sober.

The police men seemed to stand guard as their superior talked to Mr. Franks. Nobody looked up for their drinks, yet you felt as if you were watching a Mexican stand-off. But whatever your boss was saying, it seemed to help. The officer tipped his hat at him and signaled his men to leave. They went outside and with one last long look around the bar, the officer left, too.

A moment later, one of the guys who had confronted Mr. Franks before, stood up again.

“Was that planned?” he demanded to know. Before your boss could answer, there were others standing up, outraged at the accusation. This of course made others get up, positioning themselves between the first men and the others. You saw the harried look on Mr. Franks’ face and decided to leave. Slowly sinking into a crouch, you hid behind the counter. So far there was only angry muttering, but you didn’t want to stay to find out what would happen. Making your way to the door to the kitchen in your hunched position, you just hoped nobody would see you and misinterpret your intent to escape as some admittance of guilt. You made it outside and took a deep breath. With all the drivers at the terrace, your leaving would probably be spotted and with all the tension inside, you didn’t feel confident they’d just let you go.

Maybe you should have tried to find out what was going on before agreeing to take this shift, but it was too late now and knowing too much never helped you before.

Carefully opening the door our back just as wide as you could before it would creak, you squeezed through, cursing yourself for not being more lithe. It was a dark night and it took you a moment before you could see anything. Tiptoeing away from the building, you wondered if the gas-station about a mile down the road towards El Paso would be a good place to spent a few hours until dawn – getting to your car was out of the question.

While the area wasn’t exactly prime hiking territory, it wasn’t too bad walking parallel to the interstate. There were no big fences or especially bad terrain, but nevertheless your pace was slow, because of the darkness. Just when you pondered getting out your cell to light your way, you spotted the police cars. There were at least ten vehicles, blocking all lanes. Only the one in the back had lights on, probably so they wouldn’t be seen from too far off, but also to prevent a car crashing into the blockade.

This was not good. No matter how little you were involved, if anything would happen, you might be implicated. If only because one of the cops remembered the fat chick behind the bar. You moved further away from the road and crouched down next to a boulder. Fumbling out your cell, you quickly turned down it’s brightness and texted both Mr. Franks and Kolbert “Police not a mile down the Interstate”. It was just information, right? Even if they traced the message back to you, you didn’t really implicate yourself, right?

Not knowing what to do, you sat down, leaning against the boulder and pondered what to do. It wasn’t too cold at the moment, though you wished you had taken a jacket with you. Late October could get chilly at night. There wasn’t too much danger from rattlesnakes or other critters as far as you knew, it being rather late in the year and you didn’t wear sandals. But sitting here all night didn’t sound promising either. Looking up you could see a sea of stars, less in the direction of El Paso, but more towards the empty land. You loved being in Texas and this was one of the reasons – it was never too cold and you didn’t have to go far to see the stars. In L.A. it was impossible, sometimes you felt like there were too much lights at night to see even the moon.

When the vibration of your phone startled you, you realized with a sinking feeling in your stomach that you had been close to dozing off. The display told you that you had been sitting by the boulder for nearly an hour already. Before you checked the message, you looked toward the police cars to see if anything had changed. You were not quite sure, but it seemed there were fewer now.

“U a life safer. OK to come back now.” It was from Kolbert. With a sigh of relief, you slowly got up, stretching out the kinks in your neck and back and walked back towards the bar.

By now the parking lot was next to empty. All of the flashy cars had gone and there were no drivers sitting outside anymore. Inside it was welcomingly warm and familiar. Apart from Mr. Franks, Kolbert and a few familiar faces, the bar was as empty as the parking lot.

To your surprise, Mr. Franks came over and hugged you, when he spotted you.

“If not for your message, this day could have … ended worse,” he said with a slight hesitation. “Thank you for the heads-up. Quick thinking and guts you showed there,” he added with a wink.

You shrugged and muttered something about it being no big deal. Even through you were pretty curious about what had happened, you kept your mouth shut. As you went to the back, Kolbert patted your shoulder and you almost asked anyway. Clamping your mouth shut before the curiosity got the better of you, you hurried to get the sweater you had stored in one of the back rooms.

Sweater in hand you turned to hurry back, only to freeze in place when you saw Rio leaning against the wall by the door.

“Oh, hi,” you managed to say, feeling like a deer caught in the headlight under his intense gaze. He looked at you silently. Not wanting to squirm, you wrung the sweater in your hands. A hint of amusement tugged at the side of his mouth.

“You did good,” he finally said.

“Just doing my job,” you replied, shrugging. Why was he making you feel so nervous? What did he want?

“Nah, I told you to get out. You could be in your bed by now,” he drawled. You tried not to think about your bed, or any bed, but suddenly you felt sweat beading at your brow.

When you didn’t reply, he pushed himself off the wall and came closer.

“You know why this bar is called the Waiting Room?” he asked.

“Not because of sexy nurses,” you shot back without thinking. He chuckled and you wondered what the hell was going on.

“It’s because we wait here until our other venue is clear. When the cops showed up, we knew something was up, but if not for your warning…” he trailed off. You licked your lips nervously.

“You know, it doesn’t matter. But you deserve a reward.” He was standing too close. You didn’t know what to say or to do. You could smell him and for the first time realized that you were familiar with it. Not from the past, but just from the times he had been at the bar. You thought you’d never been close enough to him, but right now the sense of familiarity and danger and something else threatened to overwhelm you.

“I-I’m not…,” you managed to stutter, just when a voice from the bar called his name.

He turned his head, an annoyed look on his face. Looking back at you, he smiled, a surprisingly warm and genuine smile. With a wink he turned, calling: “Later!” over his shoulder.

You slumped against the locker and took a shaky breath. He had not threatened you at all and yet you felt weak. Was his “Later” a promise or was it meant in a more menacing way? To make matters worse, you had been almost disappointed when he left. Your insides a jumble of feelings you went back to the main room, said your good-byes and drove home.

When you woke up Sunday afternoon, you were feeling morose. There was a bad aftertaste in your mouth and the dreams you only remembered vaguely had been confusing and left you unsatisfied. With a coffee and a stale bagel, you set at the kitchen table and scanned the local news on your tablet. There were no mentions of police raids or special traffic controls, the most dramatic thing that had happened seemed to have been a confused grandma, who speed past border controls towards Ciudad Juarez across the bridge. She was stopped quickly and, being a white US citizen, safely brought home. You rubbed your eyes and wondered what you had gotten caught up in. Your cell showed only a message from Maria, saying she’d be there this evening.

Your mood was a better when you had taken a long shower and watched your favorite show on TV. With time to spare you arrived at the bar, still tense and a bit nervous, but ready to take the Sunday evening crowd on – usually rather quiet and relaxed. To your surprise, Rio was standing by the door when you came in. He was talking to another guy, but held his hand up for you to wait.

You shrugged and fished your cell out of your pocket, quickly scrolling through your news feed, but still no interesting articles. You didn’t even notice that Rio was right beside you until he cleared his throat. Nearly dropping your cell, you gave a little jump and he grinned at you.

“So, we didn’t finish our conversation yesterday,” he began and cocked his head as if inviting you to say something.

“Ah, yes, you know, just did my job,” you replied. He slightly narrowed his eyes.

“Ah?” A murmured sound to prompt you to go on.

“You know, being a bartender, I have a certain responsibility for the safety of our patrons and it was just a heads-up, really.”

“Well, I’ll be leaving tomorrow…,” he started, but you quickly interrupted him.

“Yeah, safe trip! Listen, Maria just called me over, I gotta go!”

You called the last words over your shoulder, already heading towards the back. He just made you so nervous and the last thing you wanted was a gangster who somehow thought he owed you something. Nothing ever good came from that.

Maria was her usual bubbly self and chatted away happily. As everybody was relaxed and it seemed to be a normal Sunday evening, you started gradually to unwind, too. Mr. Franks just nodded a greeting, like usual and Kolbert also didn’t make a fuss, so you were fairly certain that everything was back to normal.

It seemed that some of the guys from out of town wanted to low-key celebrate. When normally only a few would be there on a Sunday, today there were quite a few there, toasting to each other and joking around. As it was Maria’s job to wait the tables, you still had a pretty slow evening and plenty of time to chat amiably with the patrons who came up to the bar to order something. Uncle Joe dropped by and said he felt like it was a special night and ordered a slice of lime with his tonic water. You were relieved that obviously everything had gone well and that the mood was good. You didn’t really want to look for a new place yet and the bar was a kind of home to you.

When Rio came over you were almost sorry for brushing past him earlier. It wasn’t his fault you became so flustered in his presence. He didn’t say much, as you placed the usual Scotch in front of him and just sat there, sipping it slowly and fiddling with his cell.

When his glass was empty, you reach for the Scotch bottle for a refill, but he stopped you.

“Wait, I think I’m in the mood for tequila right now,” he said, barely looking up from his phone.

"¡Ay papi!" you cooed, surprised yourself by how throaty it came out.

His head whip around and the look on his face pinned you into place. You felt your face grow hot and you scrambled to correct yourself to: “Right away!” Maybe because of his furrowed brows you added “Sir!” rather belatedly and even in your own ears, lamely. His face didn’t change – he seemed almost angry and you quickly poured a shot of tequila. To your relief, Maria just came back in that moment and you fled, murmuring “Cigarette pause!” to her and rushing out back.

It was dark and cold and you leant against the bricks of the building, your face still hot from embarrassment. Why did you have to make a fool of yourself? It was going fairly well after all the tension yesterday and you had to spoil it all over again. You would have to go back inside again, but with some luck, Rio would have gone back to his buddies’ table and you wouldn’t have to see him for a while.

“You don’t smoke,” his raspy voice interrupted your self-pity. You straightened up and tried to make him out in the darkness. He was closer than you had anticipating, but still some 10 ft away, watching you. His stance was relaxed, hands in his trouser pockets, an unreadable look on his face.

You cleared your throat. “No, I don’t. I just needed some air.”

He nodded, as if you had cleared something important up and slowly walked towards you. You could tell that the nonchalance he was showing was covering something up and you wished you could run away again. He stopped in front of you, close enough that your outstretched hand could have touched him. His eyes wandered over your face, searching for something. His brows were furrowed, as if he was puzzling over something. You shuffled your feet, feeling the wall at your back, the cold bricks doing nothing to clear your head.

“Say, am I a joke to you?” he finally asked, his tone almost conversationally, but you could hear the danger beneath.

“What? No!” You could only whisper, your voice stuck in your throat.

He nodded. “No? Mhm.” He looked down and then up again. “It certainly seems that way, to me.”

“I’m so sorry,” you whispered. “I never meant to disrespect you.”

“I just don’t get why you would think it’s a good idea to play with me, you know?” he said. Your stomach seemed to drop, but you were also confused.

“Play?” you echoed weakly.

“Yeah, flirting with me, then playing coy, only to turn around again…” he trailed off. He was no longer frowning, but you still felt his anger. His words barely registered and you just looked at him.

“You know, I felt like we shared a moment and then you just brush me off later… Some men might like those games, but my impression is that you’re making fun of me.”

You stared at him, the meaning of his words slowly filtering through the fog in your brain. Your thought-process got hung-up on one word.

”Flirting?” you asked, perplexed. “I’d never flirt with you…”

You saw his clenched jaw and quickly added: “I mean, I’d not dare to… I know I’m not your type.” 

He looked surprised and just stared at you for a moment.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” he asked in real confusion.

Scrambling for an answer you began babbling. “I’d never want to bother you, you know, I just… I’m friendly? You know I’d thought you’d like some… bantering…”

The look on his face made you falter. He just starred at you, then slowly shook his head. But to your surprise he seemed amused. He snorted. Looked at you and shook his head again. Then he laughed. At first just a soft chuckle, it turned louder until he threw his head back laughing.

Now you were beginning to feel insulted. He quickly calmed down, though and leaned closer, his right hand casually propped up against the wall next to your head. A shiver ran through you and you were certain you could feel his body heat. Your heart was beating faster.

“So, you’re not my type?” His voice was low and husky. “You couldn’t have been flirting, because I wouldn’t want you?”

His gaze slowly scanned your face, moving over your features. He licked his lips and cocked his head. His eyes drifted lower, down to the neckline of your shirt. Though it was a pretty modest v-neck, you felt exposed. Now you had to lick your lips and his eyes snapped back up, focusing on your mouth.

“Too bad, you’re not interested in me,” he murmured, his face close to yours. You felt your pulse racing, your world shrinking until it seemed to only contain the two of you.

“But I…,” you whispered, then lost the thought, distracted by his eyes and long lashes.

“You?” he asked, his voice sounding like a purr.

Suddenly the tension seemed too much to bear and you felt almost as if you were drunk. Even though you were still leaning against the wall, it was as if a wave of dizziness washed over you and you reached out to steady yourself, your hand grabbing his shoulder on it’s own accord. A feral need inside you whipped away all questions and worries and you met his lips. At first it was the lightest of touches, a mere brush of lips against lips. He held still, as if not to spook you. You leaned forward pressing your lips fully against his and felt his left hand on your hip. Your lips parted and for a breathless moment you just stood there, inhaling his scent. Then he moved his right hand to cradle your head and really kissed you.

You could taste tequila and him. It was like a jolt running through your body, trailing fire and lust. Pulling him closer you pressed yourself against him, wanting more heat, more contact, more of him. His hands roamed over your body, his large hands teasing and caressing. Before you could lose your mind completely, you broke the kiss.

You placed a hand on his chest, pushing him back softly. He raised an eyebrow in question.

“Let’s get out of here,” you suggested. “I bet you’ll like my mattress.” With a grin he grabbed your hand and you followed him to his car.


End file.
